


our hearts dark in the mist

by Mystic_Diamond



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid Fusion, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, F/F, Fairy Tale Retellings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Female Character, Tragic Romance, and unrequited dimilix, background dimimari and sylvcedes, mentions of internalized misogyny and homophobia, platonic marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24392197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystic_Diamond/pseuds/Mystic_Diamond
Summary: For Day 3 of Dorogrid Week: Mermaid AUIngrid is a woman from a noble family, betrothed to House Fraldarius for as long as she could remember. Dorothea is a woman who supposedly came from nowhere, has no family name, and is free in all of the ways Ingrid cannot imagine for herself.Dorothea mysteriously has no voice, but she smells of sea salt and unfamiliar flowers, and she quickly becomes someone very dear to Ingrid. But Ingrid's wedding to Glenn is inevitable, and she has an obligation to her duty, to her family. She cannot spend the rest of her days lounging around with Dorothea, no matter how much her heart may yearn to.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Glenn Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	our hearts dark in the mist

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics in story from Lost at Sea by Amber Liu because this has spent way too long in my docs untitled and I needed something with water imagery. Big thank you to the Dorogrid Delight Server for inspiring me to go through with this idea (initially I did not plan to even participate in this week but no one else was gonna make this au exist, so why not?)
> 
> Content warnings include: compulsory heterosexuality, mentions of homophobia of both internalized and external variety, comphet marriages, internalized misogyny because it's Ingrid, as well as a near death experience (drowning).

_ Oh say no more _

_ I let us down, let us down _

_ Let you down, I let you down _

_ Now what are we for _

_ As we sink down beneath _

* * *

The edges of the tide lapped at Ingrid’s ankles, submerging her feet in brief cold for just a moment before pulling away from her entirely. The surface of the water looked like rich blue taffeta, ruffled with seafoam. It felt so cold in the early morning, and yet, Ingrid brought her kids here every so often at the end of the week during the warmer months of the year to watch the sunrise, feel the salt of the air on their skin and watch the sun lift itself into the sky like a glittering jewel climbing out of the sea.

Beatrice had turned three recently, so she stood on her wobbly legs that Glenn insisted she could learn to sword fight with if she’s given proper lessons by her father while clutching the skirt of Ingrid’s dress. The crook of Ingrid’s left arm was occupied by the presence of her child of only eighteen moons, Alphonse, who cried as often as his uncle did when he was young but had his mother’s love for knightly stories of chivalry and heroism.

Ingrid’s oldest, Edgard, was somewhere further down the shore, chasing his father on clumsy legs and filling the air with his sweet laughter. Had it not been for him and Glenn, the only sound Ingrid would’ve heard for miles would have been the song of the crashing shore against stubborn, unmoving rocks.

Glenn often asked her why it was so important to bring the children here as often as their schedules and the weather would allow. Ingrid told him it was because it was good to remind them that the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was not all harsh winter storms and empty fields for miles. It was good to give them something beautiful to witness that was part of their homeland, remind them that they do not need to hitch a carriage ride to southern Adrestia or eastward toward the aquatic capital of Leicester in order to be somewhere worthy of capturing in a painting.

But the truth of the matter was that Ingrid took her children and her husband to see the sea and watch the sunrise because she was selfish. She wanted to watch the sun lift itself out of the sea and carve a ruby path to the highest point in the sky because someone showed that to her once, marveled at it like it was a once in a lifetime miracle and not a daily occurence. She wanted to watch the sunrise on the beach as often as she could with her children because she had once shared that sight with a woman she does not see anymore, and has not spoken to in a very long time.

She wonders what happened to that woman from long ago. What she’s doing now, who she’s with, if she still watches the sunrise with that same marveled look in her eyes, if she has begun to share that moment with someone who is not Ingrid, just like Ingrid has begun to do.

Ingrid wonders if that woman is happy, despite their parting. Ingrid finds herself happy, even if she thinks of other lives she could’ve lived at times. She loves her children, and Glenn is not a selfish husband. Her family and the people of her territory are flourishing and well-fed, and Sylvain and Felix visit regularly. Sometimes even Dimitri pulls himself away from royal duty once in a while to see his friends, brings Marianne too, which was always a welcome delight.

Ingrid ended up not living her life the way she dreamed of as a child, but she wants to believe that she is happy as Countess Galatea, as a wife, as a mother.

Ingrid wonders if Dorothea has found herself happiness too.

* * *

  
When Ingrid met Dorothea, it was on the shore of the sea, and she had been clutching onto a letter from her father, telling her that the negotiations between Galatea and Fraldarius had not fallen through and she and Glenn were to be married as planned.

The letter had also told her he was undoubtedly relieved that she had survived the capsizing of that boat and that he warned her not to go to that frivolous party anyways just because Sylvain was the one throwing it. Ingrid should be thankful that the “thank the goddess you’re alive” speech came before the “your marriage prospects have not been ruined forever” anecdote, but she wished those two messages were in entirely different envelopes.

But this was good, right? She should be happy. Glenn was a good man, perhaps the best man she knew. No offense to her dear friends she had grown up with, but she would balk at the idea of marrying any of them. She had been caught for chastising Sylvain in public so many times that all of their mutual friends had taken to calling her his mother. Felix, she spent half of her life consoling him through his fits of crying, and the other half trying to make sure he didn’t accidentally kill himself challenging all the wrong people to sword duels or turn himself into a social pariah by getting angry at others when he was really frustrated with himself. Dimitri, he was sweet, he was precious, but she really did not have all the tools to understand half of what the man has been through, despite how much she cared.

She would not be a good wife to any of them, even her heart ached with fondness whenever they visited. They were like her brothers in a way, but at the same time, also sort of her sons. Ingrid hoped that was neither a strange nor offensive sentiment to express, but she felt it all the same.

Glenn was a good man, and Ingrid was sure he’d be a wonderful husband. She had known him for almost all of her life, and he’d been the one who taught her how to carry a blade in her hands when her parents had discouraged such a lifestyle for her. Whenever the social season for nobles was in full swing and Ingrid was expected to attend balls, wear her hair in the most uncomfortable ways while trying to kid herself walking in pinchy shoes and floor-length dresses, Glenn was always there to keep her from humiliating herself in front of everyone and disgracing the Galatea name.

Ingrid could’ve been engaged to any other man and she was lucky that it was Glenn.

And on that day, when she was clutching the letter from her father that told her of her future and looking toward the sea where she had nearly almost lost her life, she had met Dorothea.

* * *

Dorothea had been a strange woman. For one thing, when she and Ingrid had first met each other, catching each other’s eye from across a long stretch of pearly white sand, Dorothea had smiled broadly, moving her mouth in a way that suggested she was laughing without any sound falling from her lips, and then threw herself into Ingrid’s arms like they were old friends, reunited.

Except for the fact that Ingrid had never met her before until that moment.

“Whoa! Okay, okay, you have my attention, just--hey!” Ingrid had then toppled over, falling into the sand with Dorothea on top of her. 

Her nostrils were suddenly filled with the smell of seaweed, for some strange reason. Dorothea smelled as if she had trawled the bottom of the sea floor, tinged slightly with the scent of something vaguely floral, though nothing like any flower Ingrid smelled before.

“Do I know you?” Ingrid asked when Dorothea finally had the right mind to sit up, allowing Ingrid to set herself upright, yet she didn’t have the sense to move herself out of Ingrid’s lap. The weight of her upon Ingrid’s thighs was . . . . . an experience, to say the least.

Dorothea’s face had pinched in confusion for a brief moment, then shifted to something that resembled frustration. Dorothea had grabbed her own hair in fistfuls and shamefully looked downward, and Ingrid assumed that she was angry, but at herself first and foremost.

“Um, I’m sorry that I’m probably not the person you were looking for,” Ingrid stumbled, looking for a way to divert Dorothea’s embarrassment. “I have mistaken strangers for other people before, so please don’t feel ashamed. I must say I’m not . . . . um,  _ used  _ to such quick physical affection from other women.”

Dorothea had looked up at her, then smiled. She then poked at Ingrid’s cheeks like they were already close friends, even though at that point in time, Ingrid did not have her name and Dorothea did not have hers.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry for not being the person you thought I was, but I can introduce myself to clarify any confusion. My name is Ingrid Brandl Galatea, daughter of Count Henri Ghislain Galatea. My family has ruled these lands for a very long time.”

Dorothea looked at Ingrid in confusion for a brief moment, looked as if she was trying to absorb that information by churning it over in her head, but then smiled once more like she was amused and started poking at Ingrid’s cheeks again.

“You’re certainly, um,  _ friendly _ , but can I have your name as well? I don’t want to be like a friend of mine and refer to others as ‘you’ over and over, like it’s not rude.”

Dorothea had then stared at Ingrid for a while, an expression on her face suggesting that she was mulling something in her head.

“Um, I don’t want to be rude, but . . . . . . can you not talk?”

A brief moment of unbroken stillness from Dorothea, and then she had gravely nodded.

“ _ Oh _ , this is . . . . um,” Ingrid blanched. She had never encountered anyone who couldn’t communicate verbally, but she didn’t want to offend this woman she just met by making her feel lesser by accident. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never met anyone who couldn’t . . . . . oh, don’t say that, that’s rude . . . . . I don’t know how to talk to you in any way that’s not through--”

Dorothea shoved a dainty finger in front of Ingrid’s face, a gesture she knew meant  _ silence yourself _ . After a moment of Ingrid doing just that, Dorothea had then taken that dainty finger and grabbed Ingrid’s wrist with her other hand.

Dorothea had spelled out her name on the soft skin of Ingrid’s inner arm like a secret, like something she had no intention of letting anyone else know except Ingrid.

Momentarily entranced by the sight of Dorothea’s finger dancing across her sleeve, Ingrid shook herself out of her reverie and met Dorothea’s gaze. Her eyes were a deep verdant green, a color Ingrid knew all too well from glances in the mirror and in the eyes of her parents and her many brothers, but there was something unfathomable about Dorothea’s eyes.

For some strange reason, Ingrid was reminded of a painting a friend of hers had given as a birthday present. It was of a ghostly creature that took the form of an alluring woman that led many men astray, often to their deaths. Despite the subject of the painting being inhuman, Ingrid’s friend had painted the creature with a beauty that struck Ingrid, made her understand somewhat why those men had followed this creature into the darkness, into an early grave.

Dorothea had the look of a creature that Ingrid would’ve gladly followed even if the path she led her was into a place that spelled her doom, or away from anywhere she could call familiar. Dorothea had the gaze of a person who could enchant anyone into accepting death, whether violent or peaceful.

For a long moment, the only sound between the two of them had been the howling wind fighting against the waves of the sea.

“Your name is pretty,” was all that Ingrid could find in herself to say, her throat feeling as it had been flooded with salt water.  
  
  


* * *

Dorothea had found residence in the Galatea manor because when Ingrid asked where she came from, Dorothea hesitated, then shyly traced the word  _ nowhere  _ on Ingrid’s wrist.

Her parents were ready to take pity, of course. They were not the type of nobles who would turn someone away because of status. Ingrid’s younger brothers took immediate fascination with the woman their sister brought home, fawning over how soft her hair was and how funny they found the way she communicated. Ingrid was ready to open her mouth and chastise them for treating Dorothea like a newly bought toy, but her new friend had grinned and swatted Ingrid’s shoulder in reassurance, taking in all the sudden attention she was lavished in stride.

Dorothea apparently loved children. Ingrid’s youngest brother, Augustus, even told his sister that Dorothea suited as an older sister much better than Ingrid, since she readily picks him up to carry him without any complaint or telling him he’s too old for such play, unlike some people. Ingrid responded to him by gently knocking him on the head for not giving his dear sister proper respect.

Ingrid’s father, of course, had been sensible and asked his daughter where her new friend had come from and the whereabouts of her family. Ingrid had been ashamed to answer him that Dorothea refused to divulge such information to her. That, when asked, Dorothea said that she came from nowhere.

“That’s ridiculous,” he had said. “Everyone comes from somewhere.”   


“Wherever she came from, it seems as if she has no intention of returning,” Ingrid had responded. Ingrid looked at her new friend, immediately taking to her younger brothers faster than anyone she’s ever met that was her age. “She was overjoyed when I asked if she wanted to stay and take residence here. Almost like she was hoping for such an offer all along.”  
  
  


* * *

The people of Ingrid’s territory had immediately assumed that Dorothea was a new servant of Galatea manor. And Ingrid supposed that was Dorothea’s official status, as Ingrid’s family could not afford to keep someone in their home that was not their kin and was not willing to work. Ingrid took Dorothea around town as her lady-in-waiting, never expecting that she would ever have the privilege of having one, despite being a noble. Her family was almost as poor as the serfs that live in their territory, could never spend lavishly on things of luxury that were not needed to survive like ladies-in-waiting for their only daughter.

But Ingrid did not order Dorothea to act as her personal aide despite Dorothea’s status as such. She accompanied Ingrid often as she went to town, but only after Ingrid asked her explicit permission. Dorothea almost always said yes, though, even though Ingrid regretfully did not take her to the most exciting places. Galatea was not a place known for beautiful scenery, but Dorothea excitedly drank in the ash-covered fields and empty farmland like they were subjects of expensive landscape paintings.

“You act as if you’ve never been to such places before,” Ingrid remarked once in jest after she and Dorothea left a farmer’s market. “I’m afraid there are much more livelier places elsewhere in the Kingdom. Galatea certainly isn’t a crown jewel in our country.”

Dorothea gave her an incredulous look. Then traced onto Ingrid’s wrist,  _ Those livelier places do not have you, though _ .

Ingrid had burst into laughter then, equal parts bewildered and flattered. None of the sons of noble families she had been arranged to meet had ever expressed such a statement so earnestly. Not even Glenn would ever say something like that to her with a straight face.

Dorothea was certainly a strange woman, indeed.

* * *

Eventually, gossip spread about Dorothea’s presence by Ingrid’s side.

_ It is so lovely that the Galatea daughter is finally finding friends with other women. _

When that gossip first hit Ingrid’s ears, she had been in shock. She should’ve been glad that it was not anything befouling Dorothea’s image, but those words had startled a revelation within Ingrid.

Dorothea truly was the first woman her age she befriended.

It wasn’t as if Ingrid held other women her age in contempt. Certainly not. It was just that, well, Ingrid couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t belong among them. She had spent the whole of her childhood with either her brothers or with Dimitri, Sylvain, and Felix. Glenn had been a distant figure to her in her youth, but they eventually grew close when Ingrid caught his attention with her lance skills. None of those young boys attracted other girls into their sphere, no matter how hard Sylvain tried. Well, there was Edelgard, but Dimitri basically hoarded her attention for that brief window of time the Imperial Princess was in Kingdom territory. Ingrid truthfully couldn’t call that girl a friend of hers, only a friend of Dimitri’s.

So Ingrid knew no other girls her age when she was young. Even though she supposed she was being silly, Ingrid feared that had left her without the tools to interact with other women her age now that she was an adult that was expected to attend balls and play nice with other noble families. Subconsciously, she stuck to the side of Sylvain, Felix, and Dimitri, and the male friends they made, like Dedue and Ashe.

Not that her friends did not make friends with women. Sylvain may scare them off regularly, but he did make a friend in Mercedes, the adopted daughter of a merchant that had introduced the two of them in the hopes that Mercedes would be the future Margravine Gautier. Dimitri had even recently introduced Ingrid to Annette, the daughter of the knight who had trained him so brutally in childhood, whom he considered a younger sister of sorts.

Ingrid had met them both and found them to be good company. But something in the back of her mind felt afraid of getting closer to them, like they would find her an inadequate woman for not having the same amount of enthusiasm for getting dressed up or find her boring because she could never make herself stop rambling about her favorite books or the knights she found admirable.

It was not that Annette and Mercedes made themselves out to be the type of women who would hold Ingrid in contempt that way. But Ingrid felt paranoid that they would anyway, and that irrational voice in the back in her head kept her from forging a deeper bond with them.

Yet Ingrid had no such irrational fear with Dorothea. Maybe it was because she knew Dorothea was not from noble lineage, or if she was, she wasn’t aware of it. Ingrid did not have to fear she was befriending her because her family was seeking to marry her off to one of Ingrid's brothers or dear friends.

Dorothea supposedly came from nowhere. Ingrid had found her on the beach, and Dorothea seemed to have an aching fondness for the place, but preferred being taken to see sights far from the sea. Dorothea loved visiting open air places that were filled to the brim with people. Ingrid took her to a festival that was being held in the common square, and her friend had been utterly delighted, eagerly greeting young children that fawned over her hair and trying new foods with an eagerness Ingrid realized matched her own, which was rare.

Dorothea looked at the world as if it was all a marvel, and Ingrid couldn’t help but be swept away in her excitement. It made Ingrid more curious where this woman came from, and she concluded it must have not been a good place if Dorothea was so unwilling to talk about it and that it apparently deprived her of contact with people and music and dancing and laughter, if Dorothea seemed so wonderstruck to be among such things.

It must have meant that she had no access to such pleasures from whence she came, and Ingrid’s heart ached with sympathy.  
  


* * *

Ingrid did not like it when she had to explain to others outside of her family that Dorothea could not speak, and the people in question responded with demeaning phrases like  _ what a shame _ .

As if Dorothea was suddenly any lesser for having to communicate through means that was outside the norm. In fact, even when Dorothea did not trace her words into Ingrid’s arm, Ingrid could still find herself understanding her new friend without words. Dorothea’s face showed expression without shame; she smiled brightly when she was pleased, had a devious smirk when she was amused, possessed a pinched expression when she was confused, and made no illusions about her anger when she was wronged.

Ingrid found it refreshing. When you grew up among noble families, you grew used to people hiding unpleasant emotions and opinions behind delicate smiles, but Dorothea had no such filter when it came to her feelings. When she was happy, she made it apparent. When she was furious, she made that just as clear.

Not everyone found that sort of honesty as pleasing as Ingrid found it. Her father demanded she chastise Dorothea after she chased off an important noble for not understanding Ingrid’s discomfort with his attempts to court her, even after she told him she was engaged.

Ingrid found no reason to follow her father’s orders. Dorothea had done nothing wrong, merely expressing her displeasure when Ingrid couldn’t find the voice to express hers, and Ingrid found herself not only grateful for that, but also awed. And she didn’t find herself jealous either of Dorothea’s outspokenness.

Noble society had told Ingrid that friendship among women that were not kin was more alike to a pit of snakes, constantly whispering behind the other’s back and no hesitation to stab your dearest friend in the back should the opportunity arise. But friendship with Dorothea was nothing like a pit of snakes, nothing that spoke of knives or poison or any of the weapons Ingrid had been warned other women carried.

Dorothea was a breath of fresh air in the hot and stuffy society Ingrid had been raised in. In fact, Ingrid had not realized she was struggling to breathe there until she met Dorothea on that fateful day on the beach.  
  


* * *

Ingrid could not spend the rest of her days in town with Dorothea, however. She had a wedding to prepare, after all.

When Dorothea saw the preparations strewn about the estate, she had assumed another festival was about to be thrown and Ingrid found her practicing another dance in the yard where she and Glenn were to be wed under the Garland Moon sun.

“Have you ever been to a wedding?” Ingrid had asked.

Dorothea fervently shook her head no, and her eyes gleamed in a way that Ingrid knew meant,  _ tell me, tell me everything you know about them _ .

“Seriously?” Ingrid blanched. Many of the outings Ingrid was forced to attend as Count Galatea’s daughter were weddings, but then Ingrid remembered that Dorothea was most likely not of noble breeding, and thus, was not saddled with the same expectations that were foisted upon Ingrid. “Well, even so, you must’ve attended a family member’s wedding at some point in your life, right? Or do you and your family not get along?”

Dorothea had stared at Ingrid for a moment, worrying her lip with her teeth, and then gently took Ingrid’s wrist and traced only one word upon it.

_ Orphan _ .

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Oh, no  _ wonder  _ Dorothea never seemed to miss wherever she came from. No wonder she seemed to have no one coming to look for her, no family name to speak of. More horrifyingly, Ingrid realized that that must be why Dorothea found so much joy in Ingrid taking her to festivals and parties. Before, she must’ve had very little money to spend on pleasure, if any at all. Now that Ingrid was there to both pay and be her companion to walk with at night, Dorothea allowed herself to go wild with excitement.

No wonder Dorothea often felt like she came from an entirely different world than Ingrid, an invisible line between them that Ingrid could not seem to breach.

“Oh . . . . I understand,” Ingrid had said, not knowing what else is proper to fill the silence. “Uh . . . . . I have a friend, you know. He doesn’t have parents either. He lost them and for a while, none of us could reach him. He’s gotten a lot better now, though! Don’t worry about him. He’ll actually come to the wedding, you know. Maybe the two of you would like each other.”

Ingrid had not known not what she was saying then, was inwardly cursing the entire time at her foolishness and began to understand what Sylvain meant when he said sometimes he put his foot in his mouth, but then a smile blossomed on Dorothea’s lips, beautiful and whole.

_ You’re sweet _ , she traced onto Ingrid’s wrist, and Ingrid was left in a daze for the rest of the day, idly tracing the path of those words over and over at times when Dorothea’s image sprung forth in her mind again.

_ You’re sweet. _  
  


* * *

“The thing is, I’ve sort of been waiting for this wedding my whole life,” Ingrid confessed one day, to Dorothea as they watched the sun rise on the beach where they met. Here is where they can be alone without any of Ingrid’s family or the staff overhearing them by accident. “That makes me sound like a romantic, though. Let me rephrase that: I’ve been raised for this moment my whole life. So have my friends. It’s basically what’s expected of us in noble society. I know it’s not like commoners have it all that different. I grew up with books telling me that marriage is supposed to be this beautiful ceremony of eternal love, but in reality, it’s just what we’re expected to do to survive, rich or poor.”

Dorothea wore that look that told Ingrid she was listening and listening intently. Others would’ve assumed someone silent is  _ always _ listening, but there are thoughts in Dorothea’s head that still exist, even they can never come out of her mouth. Being quiet doesn’t always mean she’s listening; she could easily be occupied just like anyone else. But right at this moment, framed with early morning light that looked more silver than golden yellow, Ingrid knew she was listening to her.

“Marriage is just meant for security, and my marriage to Glenn is just meant to unite our families together,” Ingrid continued, swallowing something odd that had grown in her throat. “I’ve learned to accept that. And besides, Glenn isn’t a bad person. He’s not selfish or dishonorable in any way. I once looked up to him as the ideal person to grow into. Silly, right? But I have no right to complain about my marriage. It could’ve honestly been much,  _ much _ worse.”

Dorothea had given Ingrid a look that seemed to say  _ I know you have a lot more to speak about on this matter _ . It made a laugh bubble out of Ingrid’s throat for a moment before she opened her mouth once more to complain about useless woes.

“A friend of mine fell in love through an arranged marriage,” Ingrid sighed. She felt so silly, complaining about Dimitri’s happiness, when she knew that he deserved that above all else after the horrible things he had witnessed. “They are not married yet, but if you were in the same room as them, you would not be at fault to presume they have been married for decades. I sometimes can’t help but feel slightly jealous, hah! I’ve known him since we were children and yet his fiancee understands him far better than I could ever hope to.”

Ingrid had meant that in jest and looked toward Dorothea, expecting a mirthful gaze and silent giggle upon her sweet lips, but instead found her friend staring at her in shock, eyes wide and mouth shaped in a small, careful “o.”

Upon realizing her blunder, Ingrid had almost fallen backwards upon the sand trying to correct herself.

“Just so you know, I’m not jealous in that manner! His Highness is like a younger brother to me! Maybe the idea of marrying Glenn doesn’t make me excited, but marrying His Highness is absolutely absurd!”

Ingrid had to take a few deep breaths to recover from that completely undignified outburst. Her ears burned with embarrassment. She had felt like such a child.

“The thing is that he and Marianne are perfect for each other,” she had finally breathed out. “They understand each other in ways no one else can. It’s amazing. I’m jealous just looking at them. And they would have never met if the two of them weren’t promised to each other by their parents. So that’s why I feel so strange, you know? Part of me can’t help but wonder if Glenn and I are destined to be like that. That I should give him a chance.”   


Ingrid did not dare to look at Dorothea then, instead only having the courage to look forward at the crimson sunrise, how brilliant it looked.

“Of course, the other part is screaming that I have never felt that way towards Glenn. Absolutely never. I have tried time and time again to fall in love, but I always come up short. I guess that should frustrate me, but if anything, I’m lucky. Too many noble daughters have had their hearts broken by not being allowed to marry their man of choice and spend the rest of their life lamenting it. I do not wish to be one of those tragic maidens. At the same time, I wonder if something is wrong with me.”

Ingrid had turned to look at Dorothea then, and saw that her friend’s eyes had never looked so enraptured until now. Her gaze looked as if it radiated hope, and something more. Something warmer. Something Ingrid couldn’t bring herself to describe. 

“Dorothea,” Ingrid said, her tongue feeling heavy with what she was about to say. “I’m going to tell you something I have never told anyone else. I need you to promise me you’ll take it to the grave.”

Immediately upon hearing such words, Dorothea nodded emphatically. Her eyes seemed to weep with sympathy for Ingrid, but also seemed to gleam with something that looked like anticipation.

Ingrid had began to speak of Sylvain, how frivolous the man was with the fairer sex, how eager he seemed to throw himself into the arms of a stranger, only to return with a slap mark on his cheek for his efforts. She spoke of how he had initially thought terrible things of Mercedes, the woman he was now friends with and his father expected him to marry. She spoke of how Sylvain assumed her to be a self-serving woman, one eager to use him to climb the ranks, not helped by how he could smell the greed of her adopted father coming off of him in waves.

She spoke of how Sylvain quickly learned that that was not the case, and if anything, learned that Mercedes and he were alike, far too alike in ways he would’ve never expected. She spoke of how Sylvain confided in Ingrid that he feared that he was in love with Mercedes now that he knew better about her, and that it would spell heartbreak for him if she did not feel the same way.

Sylvain and Mercedes were destined to marry in the future, but there was no guarantee that Mercedes loved Sylvain. For all he knew, she could see their future union as nothing more than a business arrangement at best, and a nightmare of a gilded cage at worst. Sylvain feared that Mercedes saw him as another man out to possess her and use her, just like the men of her past, and he had admitted to Ingrid that he wouldn’t blame her if she did. And of course, Sylvain being emotionally tongue-tied as he is, did not know how to tell Mercedes that he loved her and wanted to be a good man for her, and Ingrid, knowing nothing of the intricacies of Mercedes’s mind or even what women in this situation want to be told, did not know anything she could tell Sylvain to soothe him.

Ingrid had then told Dorothea of what Felix confided to her in letters, and internally beat herself over how she was most certainly breaking his trust by telling his secret to Dorothea, a woman he has not been even introduced to yet, but she had quietly justified it to herself then that Dorothea would have no way to expose Felix, and that she would have no motive to do such a horrible thing, anyways.

Looking back on it, Ingrid realized that even with such excuses, it was still a horrible thing for her to do. 

Ingrid had told Dorothea that Felix confided to her in the past that he did not understand why he had to treat marriage like it was a business transaction, why he had to think of his father and the people of Fraldarius when choosing a future spouse because Felix already knew who he loved, and known it since he was a child. Ingrid had written back to him that a good marriage was not meant to be built on love, at least not marriage for people like them.

Felix had fired back with a letter asking her what was so wrong about marrying for love? Ingrid had not expected such a fanciful thought from Felix, of all people. Wanting to marry for love . . . . . such a notion was childish, absurd even!

Ingrid had looked at Dorothea when she said as such, and Dorothea had been worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. But she let Ingrid continue on.

What Ingrid told Dorothea next spoke bounds about how much she trusted her friend, how deeply she believed that Dorothea would truly take this secret to her grave.

Felix had confided in Ingrid that he had been in love with Dimitri for years and thus, did not want to meet with any of the noble daughters his father was arranging for him to meet. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to even attend Dimitri’s wedding to Marianne, knowing that his heart would ache seeing Dimitri swear his future to someone else.

Ingrid knew that if the letter Felix had sent her was read by anyone else, they may have called him a sinner, destined to burn in the goddess’s wrath.

Ingrid had not known how to respond to Felix’s anguished words then, only meekly responded to him by promising to not tell Dimitri, to never tell another soul (a promise she ended up breaking, no less, even if Dorothea was perhaps the best candidate to ever confide a secret) and told him that she hoped that even if he could never bring himself to love another the way he loved Dimitri, he would be able to find happiness and hope in the future regardless.

Felix’s response bluntly told her she was a terrible shoulder to cry on, not that he was the type to weep anyway, and that they should just drop this topic and never speak of it again.

“I wish I was able to be a better friend to him then, but what else was there for me to say? Marriage for people like us is not meant to be based on something like love. And learning that Felix loves His Highness . . . . . it makes me terrified for him. It makes me terrified because I don’t know if he’ll ever find happiness with a wife, but there’s no other future for him, is there? Just like how there’s no future for me that doesn’t involve Glenn being my husband. It’s just how we have to accept things.

“But when I think about Sylvain and Felix, friends of mine whom I love more than anyone else, I can’t help but feel like all of this just hurts us. Sylvain might spend the rest of his life scared his wife secretly resents him and Felix might not love anyone except someone he can’t have. So I’m being selfish, aren’t I? At the very least, I have never fallen in love before. I should hope I remain that way, lest I wind up miserable because there’s no way out of what’s already determined.”

When Ingrid had turned to look at Dorothea again, she saw tears flowing freshly down her cheeks, leaving stains upon her lovely face. Ingrid’s heart ached, and she carefully lifted a hand to wipe away at the wetness on her friend’s face.

“You’re such a compassionate soul to weep for others, Dorothea,” Ingrid had said, smiling. “Truly, your heart is the kindest that I have ever stumbled upon.”

Ingrid had meant for those words to be flattery, but that had seemed to upset Dorothea further, urging more tears to fall. Eventually, Dorothea swatted away Ingrid’s attempts to comfort her, instead plastering on a smile that looked faker than anything Ingrid had ever seen, and insisted they should continue to enjoy the sunrise.  
  


* * *

New rumors about Dorothea had emerged after that, this time criticizing how much time she spent with Ingrid, an engaged woman.

Ingrid should’ve realized how strange Dorothea looked from an outside perspective, and should've taken more care to not sully her dear friend’s dignity.

Dorothea deserved better than to be called a future spinster by the townsfolk of Galatea. Dorothea deserved better than to have those words spoken about her because of Ingrid’s inability to let her go.

Just a while ago, Ingrid was praised for finally having a female friend her age but now that her wedding to Glenn grew closer and closer, it was as if now her friendship was something to scorn over.

_ The future countess does not seem to be as invested in her future as she should be. Instead, she spends all her time wasting away like her lady-in-waiting like she is a child. _

_ What a selfish woman. If Miss Dorothea wasn’t so occupied by her duties to Lady Galatea, I would’ve made an offer to marry her to my eldest son! _

_ Isn’t Lady Galatea aware of her time as a child is long over? She is a woman now, and must devote her time to her future husband and children instead of with her servant. _

They were right, Ingrid knew that in her heart. This was time for her to prepare for the future, and it was likely that in the future, she and Dorothea could be miles away from each other, time with each other traded instead for time with their husbands and their children, and in Ingrid’s case, running her territory.

That was what would be good. Dorothea was beautiful, heartrendingly so, and to have her serve Ingrid for the rest of her days would be to ensnare her beauty away from the general populace. Dorothea would be pressured to marry just as Ingrid was before her engagement to Glenn was made official, because to be such a beautiful woman without a ring on her finger would be seen as a waste to all of society.

Dorothea was lovely enough to have nobles ignore her strange muteness and the mysteriousness of whence she came to beg her for her hand in marriage. 

But Ingrid’s heart had ached at the idea that she and Dorothea would no longer be as close as they were, that she would have to jump over leaps and bounds in order to be able be in the same room as her. If Ingrid were to be selfish, she could demand Dorothea serve as her lady-in-waiting for the rest of her days, eventually serving Glenn and her future children. But that would be utterly selfish, to steal away whatever potential future Dorothea could make for herself just to soothe Ingrid’s yearning for a friendship with another woman.

Yet, she was horrified at the idea of them having to separate for good, to have their paths diverge and never run parallel again.

Dorothea deserved to have a future of her own, but there was still a chance for hers and Ingrid’s to still be intertwined, or at the very least, have the potential to run into each other again.

So Ingrid had penned a letter to Felix, and then to his father, Duke Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius. Telling the both of them that she had a proposal to make.  
  


* * *

“Oh, it’s such a wonderful idea, isn’t it?” Ingrid had said as Dorothea held a ring forged from Fraldarius steel in her hand, sent to her in an envelope from the current Duke of Fraldarius, asking her if she would like to be the wife of his youngest son.

“I feel almost as clever as that sharp-witted prince from Almyra! If you accept, then we’ll be as close as sisters, you and I! We’ll both be wives to the Fraldarius brothers and won’t ever have to fear drifting apart in the future! Isn’t that exciting?”

Dorothea’s expression was unreadable, a shadow falling over half of her face. She had simply turned the ring over and over in her hand, as if she expected it to transform into something startling.

“We can raise our children together, even! Oh, wouldn’t it be lovely to call each other family? Felix may not be the friendliest person upon first glance, but he has a true and honest soul and will not do wrong by you, I’m sure of it! If he does, I’ll throttle some sense into him. Don’t worry, Dorothea, Fraldarius is a lovely place to live and we will be able to see each other often! Oh, I can’t wait to introduce the two of you to each other, and--”

Ingrid was interrupted from her rambling when Dorothea grabbed her hand to drop the ring she had received into Ingrid’s palm, firmly shaking her head no.

Ingrid’s mouth felt dry.

“But why? This is a great opportunity! No one can judge us if we spent more time with each other than our husbands! The two of us can be like sisters if we go through with this. I thought you wanted to spend the rest of our lives together, Dorothea. Why are you . . . . . . why are you rejecting the only way for that to be possible?”

Ingrid’s voice had cracked towards the very end, she would be forced to admit. It felt like her heart was fracturing, the idea that somehow, overnight, Dorothea grew bored of her. That old nobles were right and friendship among women  _ was _ like a pit of snakes, a place to get betrayed and backstabbed over and over again.

Dorothea, in response, had begun to cry. Her tears trailed brilliantly down her cheeks despite the complete silence from her mouth. Ingrid sometimes still wondered why her friend was mute. Was she born that way? Or did she lose her voice somewhere in the past? 

“Dorothea . . . . . . .” Ingrid began, reaching out to console her dear friend, but Dorothea had turned away, leaving Ingrid alone on the beach where they had met, the only sound being the roaring ocean in Ingrid’s ears, hauntingly reminding her of the day she almost died.  
  


* * *

The day Ingrid almost died, she had been celebrating with Sylvain atop one of his father’s ships. Or rather, Sylvain had been celebrating and Ingrid was there to make sure he didn’t humiliate himself or pitch himself overboard by accident.

The party was supposedly thrown in celebration of Dimitri’s engagement to Marianne, but as all things that are organized by Sylvain, it got out of hand quickly. And like always, it was up to his friends to clean up his messes.

It had started when apparently a bitter ex of Sylvain’s had snuck onto the ship and started a scene in front of everyone. Then the ex in question had found out Mercedes was the new woman on Sylvain’s arm after she was so callously thrown away, and  _ that  _ had blown up into a whole fight that Ingrid was  _ so _ sure would inevitably result in drawn knives and people thrown across the floor, but had instead ended with Mercedes calmly consoling the woman who crashed the party and Sylvain  _ apologizing _ to her, of all things.

That was certainly a surprise for the night. And Ingrid was not needed for once. Huh. But that wasn’t the most memorable event, at least not for Ingrid.

No, the most memorable event of the night had been Felix getting absolutely wasted on alcohol and Ingrid having to use her well-practiced right hook to save her friend from losing a fight in which he certainly provoked all by himself and was clearly outnumbered. She had then pulled Felix away to ice his wounds and scold him, but Felix’s eyes had been completely focused elsewhere, leaving Ingrid to rant into one ear and out the other.

“Those two are so sickening, aren’t they?” Felix had said, a delirious smile that told Ingrid that he most certainly had no idea what was coming out his mouth. His head had been tilting towards the couple the whole party was supposed to be celebrating.

“You’re not special, Felix,” Ingrid had sighed. “Even the birds envy the kind of love His Highness has found with Marianne. But that’s what makes us feel all the happier for them, right?”

Felix was silent then, a heavy silence that allowed Ingrid to see the bitter resentment flooding in his gaze as he continued to look upon Dimitri and Marianne, quietly talking among themselves and smiling secret smiles.

Ingrid knew Felix was hurting, but the idea of him wishing harm upon Marianne because she had what he didn’t made Ingrid’s blood go hot.

“There are  _ other _ people out there in the world, Felix,” Ingrid had scolded, perhaps with a little too much heat in her words. “This love of yours won’t haunt you forever. If you just stop being so stubborn, maybe there’s a chance you can be happy in the future and won’t have to keep torturing yourself over this silly--”

“You know, when I first told you,” Felix had snapped back, clarity starting to break through in his eyes. “I thought you would understand.”

“I wish I could empathize with you so I would know what to say, but unfortunately, I don’t remember a time in my life I was ever in love, not even as a child.”

Felix had snorted derisively, then. “That’s because you have always kept trying to force yourself to fall in love with  _ men _ .”

Ingrid’s mouth had gone dry at that moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This is what I mean when I said I hoped you would’ve understood me, but no! You’re happy to keep deluding yourself and trying to get others to fall in line. Well, I’m sorry I can’t do that, Ingrid! Some of us have unfortunately known we would never fit in with what our parents wanted since we were children.”

A strange discomfort had rushed through Ingrid then, one that felt similar to a fever. She had suddenly felt like a stranger in her own skin, felt the need to claw her way out of her own body.

Felix had accused her of lying to herself. And Ingrid couldn’t find the words to defend herself in that moment, to insist he was just insecure and desperate to project onto her.

She had never once remembered a moment she was ever in love. But she had never considered trying to look at another  _ woman _ in such a light . . . . . . .

The rest of Ingrid’s memories of the night after that had been washed away by the sea, the cold of the fathomless depths swallowing up whatever feelings she must’ve felt, whatever else she must’ve said to Felix then. An unexpected storm had come their way and somewhere in the midst of the chaos, Ingrid had been pitched overboard, plunged into the dark, unknowable cold.

Ingrid could scarcely remember how she survived.

She could recall a sharp blow to the back of her head, her mouth and throat flooding with saltwater, the light of the above world fading further and further away from her.

Then--

Then Ingrid had felt a strength that did not belong to her pull her up towards the light, towards where she could break the surface of the ocean and breathe once more. She did not remember the face of her saviour, but she remembered she was not saved by a miracle, not by the goddess.

Ingrid’s memories of her rescue contained no images that were not of pitch blackness. But she could remember a sound or two. She remembered Sylvain calling out her name as she fell overboard, the sound of her skull hitting against a craggy rock, the sound of an unfamiliar shriek.

She remembered a voice, softly singing to her, before she awoke alone on the beach.

It had been a lovely singing voice, mournful but full, one of a woman begging her to open her eyes and see light once more.

What a pity she never heard such a voice ever again.

* * *

  
Not longer after Dorothea rejected Duke Rodrigue’s offer to marry his son, Glenn had come to visit Galatea territory.

Dorothea was not at Ingrid’s side as she greeted her soon-to-be husband at the gates. She had not been at Ingrid’s side for a long while after that disaster regarding the suggested proposal, and Ingrid had neither the courage nor the words to confront Dorothea again to fix things.

Instead, Ingrid was cowardly and allowed Dorothea to have some time for herself. She had actually caught Dorothea walking along the shores of the beach where they had met. Somewhere along their friendship, Ingrid had started to regard that beach as  _ theirs _ , despite how silly that was.

Still, Glenn was good company. He had tried to greet her with a kiss on the hand, like a good knight did for his beloved lady, but the shared grimace on both their faces silently communicated that they will never attempt such a thing again.

Ingrid distracted herself from her feelings regarding Dorothea (that mostly consisted of anguish, regret, a strange sort of longing she could not name) by throwing herself entirely into the wedding planning. Arranging the bouquets, making sure the tailors don’t go overboard on the dress she’ll have to wear (which is simply a refitted version of her mother’s dress, but seamstresses kept insisting they add embellishments regardless of Ingrid’s wishes), trying to keep  _ herself _ from going overboard on the menu of the wedding dinner (in which she was very happy Glenn was there to keep her in check).

Sleep was a good and rare respite in between all of the planning. And because she and Glenn were soon to be married, Glenn sometimes joined her in her bed, simply sleeping opposite of her. Sylvain would mock her, but the closest contact the two of them shared while sharing a bed was Glenn’s knee occasionally knocking against hers while he dreamed of practicing sword forms. How typical of him.

Ingrid had not felt as nervous as she ought to have had. It was not all that different from sleeping at the side of her brothers, or cuddling up against Dimitri, Sylvian, and Felix. Perhaps Glenn would be offended to be compared to such situations, but that was how Ingrid felt.

She has long resolved she would never feel such feelings towards Glenn. She had decided such when the engagement was made official and the ring was placed on her finger. But ever since she had met Dorothea, a strange bitterness began to cloud her mind when she thought about her engagement, her inevitable wedding, the inevitable children she’ll have.

Many of Ingrid’s feelings have changed since she had met Dorothea. Towards marriage, towards her duty, towards the nature of women her age, what those women looked like,  _ really _ looked like through Ingrid’s eyes . . . . . .

It was terrifying, how much impact this one woman has had on her life.

Terrifying, yet thrilling all the same.

* * *

  
One night, Ingrid awoke abruptly in a cold sweat. In the distance, she could hear the door of her bedroom close shut. Glenn was sound asleep beside her.

Ingrid had not known what had woke her. But she could recognize the sound of footsteps retreating, and she could hear them down the hall, walking away from her door.

Quickly, Ingrid slid out of bed as silently as she could without waking Glenn and out into the hallway. Where she was greeted by the back of Dorothea’s retreating form.

“Dorothea,” Ingrid had softly whispered into the cold night air, not expecting to be heard or even acknowledged. 

Dorothea, miraculously, turned to look at Ingrid. Gave her a soft, mournful look. Then revealed what she hid in the sleeves of her dress. A glimmer of silver in the dark of the night.

A knife encrusted with pearls.

“What--?” Ingrid might have been able to finish her sentence had Dorothea not run into her arms, knocking her breathless as she did when they first met.

It was by perhaps pure luck that the blade of Dorothea’s delicate knife did not nick into Ingrid’s vulnerable flesh.

Dorothea’s face buried itself into Ingrid’s shoulder, smearing wet tears into her nightgown.

“Dorothea, are you okay? What are you doing up in the middle of the night? Do you need me to--?”

Ingrid was silenced by the chill of Dorothea’s fingertip digging into the back of Ingrid’s nightgown. Strangely, Ingrid could decipher exactly what Dorothea traced into her back.

_ I’m so sorry _ and  _ I have to go _ .

_ Please take this away from me. _

The strange knife Dorothea was placed into Ingrid’s hands once the two women finally separated. It glimmered a soft white amid all the darkness.

There are so many questions on Ingrid’s tongue, tangling themselves up in their effort to free themselves from behind Ingrid’s teeth. Eventually, only one manages to climb out and be heard.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Silence, and then a somber shake of Dorothea’s head.

And perhaps that was fair, with everything Ingrid had done to Dorothea. Tried to force a marriage onto her because of her own selfishness. This was the justice Ingrid deserved for treating her dear friend so badly, ignoring her wishes. 

This was where their paths must diverge, where their futures could no longer meet again. Ingrid could cry at the loss of someone so precious to her, but she could also find hope in the bitter and bleak despair.

Hope that Dorothea could forge a future where Ingrid could not, make a path for herself that did not require her to take a husband to please society’s standards for women, continue to see the world in that achingly bright way Ingrid so deeply envied.

It was a hope that Ingrid fervently clutched onto as her wedding came and went, as the years marched on, as her children were born and each and every one of her friends got married, even Felix, though it was not to the man he hoped it would be, Ingrid did get to see him crack a smile on his wedding day to Annette.

It was a hope Ingrid held fast onto, because Dorothea’s final message to her rang true: the two of them never did meet again. Dorothea seemed to vanish from Galatea as quickly as she appeared, as if into thin air, carrying away that smell of unfamiliar flowers with her.

* * *

  
As far as Glenn knew, his wife carried a small pocket knife with her always because it was a dear gift from a dear friend. It was a strange knife, definitely not familiar of any style from Fodlan, not even from the furthest eastward stretches of Leicester or the most southward of Adrestia. Pearls decorated the handle of it, beautiful and rare. 

The strangest thing about it is how perfect it looked for killing, looking as if it could belong to an assassin. Glenn will never tell his wife such a frightful thing, though. What kind of friend would give a gift that would be the perfect weapon for a murder?

Sometimes, Ingrid’s eyes looked empty as she looked out towards the seas, towards the horizon where the sun had met with the surface of the water. Glenn could never hope to glean the full meaning of what was in Ingrid’s gaze as she reminisced about that strange friend from whom she received the knife, but he hoped she knew that it would not be burdensome to rely on him, just as he could rely on her when he had nightmares of the day he failed to save King Lambert.

Even if they both knew their marriage held no such illusion of romance, there was still a strong bond of love between them regardless.

Edgard Rodrigue Fraldarius, the little rascal, had escaped his father’s sight for a while now, and Glenn hopes he’ll be able to find him before Ingrid gives him an earful about it.

“Edgard! Edgard, you can’t hide from me forever!”

Oh, the little boy has the stubbornness of his uncle. Glenn would weep tears of pride were he not panicking with the possibility that he lost his son to the waves, in the ocean where Ingrid very nearly died young had she not been found washed up on the shore.

“Father!” a familiar voice cries out, and Glenn nearly broke down sobbing right there and then. He has found his beautiful son, his son that was drenched from head to toe in seawater.

“What did I tell you about trying to swim? You’re a Fraldarius, and that means you sink like a rock, okay? Trust me, your uncle has tried to defy this fate of ours long ago, but to no avail.”

But his little boy didn’t seem to be listening to him. Instead, his eyes were searingly bright despite the salt clinging to his skin and his clothes.

“I saw a mermaid!” he cries, tugging on his father’s arm towards the ocean. “She was so pretty, too! She had long brown hair and smooth skin and  _ really _ bright green eyes kinda like Mother’s but also not like Mother’s, and she--!”

“That sounds amazing, Edgard, but let’s go back to your mother and your siblings, huh? Maybe once we get you dried up and put some breakfast into your stomach, we can talk about the mermaid you saw. Does that sound good?”

Edgard, thankfully, nods firmly in response and allows himself to be carried away in the arms of his father.

“She saved my life,” Edgard softly whispers into his father’s ears. “I heard her sing a little before she had to go leave, too. She has the prettiest voice I ever heard. Prettier than Aunt Annette, even.”

“Is that so?” Glenn chuckles. “Don’t tell your uncle that, or he’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

Whether or not this strange mermaid his son spoke of was real, the gleam in Edgard’s eyes was, so Glenn supposed it didn’t matter in the end.

The idea of a mermaid saving his son’s life and singing to him before bringing him back to the surface sounded like a good story, and Glenn knew very well that his wife loved listening to good stories.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok yeah. I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill off Dorothea. I didn't have the heart to do it. Besides, I'm not sure how many people are willing to read angst with zero happy ending. I just couldn't do it to them.
> 
> So what allowed Dorothea to survive a fate of sea foam? To me, the contract Dorothea arranged with the sea witch (if you wanted to know, I like to think it's Hubert) told her that if Ingrid did not choose to be with her, she would turn back into a mermaid and be incapable of ever walking on land ever again, cursed to go back to where she started, pining for Ingrid from afar. The scene where Dorothea told Ingrid goodbye, she was truly contemplating killing her. The knife, just like in the original story, was traded for long hair (in this case, Ferdinand sacrificed those beautiful locks for his best friend) but instead of giving Dorothea her mermaid tail back, she would've been able to keep her legs forever, as well as get revenge on Ingrid for loving her but not choosing her.
> 
> The real tragedy of this romance is not that Dorothea's feelings are unrequited, it's that Ingrid is not willing to acknowledge that her feelings are romantic in nature and that she is indeed lying to herself when she says she is not capable of falling in love. Unfortunately, for Dorothea, it's not enough that Ingrid loves her back. The fact that Ingrid was already betrothed to Glenn before the two of them even met doomed her to not be able to get what she wants (a life on land with her Ingrid).
> 
> Belatedly, I realize that maybe it's not fair to say this fits the mermaid prompt when we never see Dorothea with her tail, but I wanted to write a Little Mermaid retelling entirely from the prince's perspective, for the delicious irony.
> 
> And re: Felix getting married to Annette in the end when the conversation with Ingrid probably implied he was incapable of loving women, to me, Felix Hugo Fraldarius is a bi, duel wielding his struggle of crushing on girls and guys alike, but admittedly, having him struggle against the idea of not marrying the love of his life, only to conveniently fall for the woman he ended up engaged to, can feel a little yikes, even if he is bisexual. So when it's said he smiled once during his wedding, you can choose whether this means he has fallen for Annette and moved on from Dimitri, or that he and Annette agreed to be besties for life because marriage because of love and not out of societal obligation is actually a very modern thing and I'll die on this hill (stares at the people who insist the Dimitri/Felix ending is platonic because Dimitri's wife is briefly mentioned).


End file.
